Gotta Love the Forearms
by BlueRainDevi
Summary: Oneshot. Portions of a diary of a woman who works in Romania with Charlie.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with the Harry Potter Universe created by JK Rowling, including the Weasleys, including Charlie.

_Charlie Weasley's forearms are a sight to behold. Deeply tanned, so very muscled and rippled with numerous scars that a girl just has to run her fingers all over. _

_Oh yeah, those forearms do it for me._

_Those forearms, coupled with those biceps make arms that you could just fall into, connected to a chest that you could lean into, that he could crush you against. His neck must smell soooo good. His stomach must be Rock. Hard. It has to be- there's no way a softie would be able to tame dragons the way he does._

_Tame dragons. That's such a lie. Those great big beasts he deals with are about as tame as he is._

_Just look at that wicked grin on his face, those laughing eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that you just wish would undress you, even as he probably is. Stand back ladies, Charlie Weasley has arrived._

* * *

I didn't even really remember Charlie, or notice him at Hogwarts. He was one of those Quidditch players, seeker for Gryffindor, and I was one of those Ravenclaws that couldn't care less. Honestly, I spent more time in the godforsaken Potions dungeons than anywhere near a Quidditch field.

Not that Charlie even noticed me. I'm fairly certain that he did not know that Persephone Jones existed. I'm sure that he had waaay better things to do than to mess around with some girl a few years younger who thought that wearing her hair in two braids constituted a "style." And when he wasn't out on the Quidditch pitch, he was hanging around Hagrid, discussing some animal or the other that I'm sure I didn't even want to know existed.

Definitely, I did not pay attention to Charlie Weasley at Hogwarts.

Much.

I though I had a pretty good idea of the type of guy I'd be working with, when they sent me out to Romania for research. Esteban Faustus, who was another wizard researching Magical Creatures, and was spending a year with Weasley to work with dragons, and Charlie Weasley himself. Esteban and I were pretty good friends at Hogwarts; we saw enough of each other in the library, bookworms though we were, but I had no idea what to expect of Weasley.

That's not exactly true. I expected some sort of brawny guy with no brains and maybe a little prone to rushing into things, a meathead, if you will.

So when I arrived in Romania, forest all around, not a trace of civilization other than the Ministry tents, I was not prepared for the wizard, who was helping me carry my notes to my quarters, to say,

"Huh. Well, _that's_ wrong."

On the first page of my Herbology notes! Excuse me, but can' he stick to his animals? Who does Charlie Weasley think he is, criticizing the first page of _my_ notes?

I glared at him, trying not to notice his broad shoulders and half grin when I said, "Excuse me?"

He pointed. "Romila's Wart doesn't react that way with a beazor. It's special, and only gets that result at about five thousand degrees. You'll see."

We had reached my tent, which I hoped was a decent temperature, as the Romanian autumn was a lot cooler than I anticipated. He set my bags lightly at the door, and held out his hand.

I shook it, feeling the deep calluses on his palm and fingers, and he said, kindly, "Welcome to Romania, Persephone. I think it will be a real pleasure working with you."

Ignoring the way my stomach was happily performing somersaults, I said icily, "I think that the real pleasure will be conducting my research uninterrupted."

And I swept inside my tent with what I hope was such a noticeable gesture, that he took the hint. If he didn't, I would be in real trouble.

* * *

I didn't expect him to remember me. I had changed since Hogwarts, and instead of the paler, slightly chunky girl, I had, or so I was told, become a curvy woman. The hours spent collecting plants and researching Herbology for my Potions work had left me deeply tanned, especially since I had spent the summer in the American tropics. My braids had been upgraded to a bun that always started out neat and tidy, but somehow at the end of the day was a mess of curls and waves escaping from the band.

I had been eating breakfast with Esteban, arguing adamantly that unicorn hair was a _staple_, not a luxury when one looked at all the benefits, when Charlie Weasley sat down, munching on a banana, the primate, and said, "Spoken like a true Ravenclaw, right there."

I looked at him and said, "Lucky guess."

"If you wish. I miss the braids."

My eyes widened, and I know they did.

"Miss Jones, somehow you have the concept that you were invisible, and still are to a degree. Also you have, what I term affectionately, the Granger complex. You don't give enough room for someone to know more than you do."

"I haven't even been here two weeks and you're already making slights on my character?"

"No, but I'm just telling you that you're going to find your plants a lot faster if you let someone who knows the area help you."

"Oh, like you?" I said, rolling my eyes.

He nodded, and folded his arm across his chest. Finally, he sighed and said, "Okay, I admit it. The sooner I get you out of here, the sooner I can use the area to bring in more dragons. We're looking actually at a Spanish chubacabre mutation. And while you're here, about half the area I need is sectioned off. So will you let me help you?"

Yes, yes, I know. I shouldn't have. I tried to not think about it.

* * *

Charlie was actually very helpful, and despite the numerous talks I had with my brain, I couldn't help it.

One day he looked up from his lunch, gave me a grin for what I'd said, and I knew I was _gone._

I was hopelessly in love with Charlie Weasley. And yes, he knew I existed, but try being second place to a _dragon_. In two minutes I was able to admit and doom my feelings for the man. So that took care of that. Unrequited love, but at least no awkward confessions and rejections.

I sighed inwardly and threw myself into my work as the freezing Romania winter set out upon us.

* * *

I was sitting in the spacious sitting room of my tent, decorated in orange and gold to remind me of a warmer time, when I heard a tap, and Charlie's voice asking if he could come in.

I pulled my many blankets tighter around me, and allowed him in. He stepped in with a rush of frozen-to-the-bone air, and I shivered. He smiled and asked if I was all right. I laughed and pointed out that he was the one just coming in from hours outdoors, his freckled nose reddened by the weather.

He sat down and I asked what I could do for him.

"Well, Seph, I was wondering how you were spending the holidays."

"Oh, you know, I was planning on traveling home, but you know my mum, always busy at the last minute."

"I don't think I've ever met a woman as busy as your mum, Auror and all…..that's kind of why I'm here. I've been invited home, and I think I can spare a couple of days, and my parents wanted to know if you'd join us."

I wasn't sure how I felt about this. Spending the holiday with a family I didn't even know, even spending it with Charlie? It was hard enough knowing I couldn't exactly trust myself around him around the site, but in a house, surrounded by warmth and Christmas cheer and chestnuts on open fires and hot chocolate. _Warmth_.Okay, that did it for me.

"I'd love to."

* * *

Molly Weasley's holiday pies are supernaturally good. The woman cooks and cooks and cooks, and doesn't mind the bottomless pit that is my stomach. I suppose with the army of children she has, plus Potter this year, I can see why. I noticed though, that though all his siblings have freckles, Charlie seems to have so much more than the others. They spread across his face, down his neck, across his arms, even reaching the tops of his hands. I suppose it must be all the work with dragons and what not. Honestly, for a moment if he'd been afflicted with Spattergroit years ago….

Blast. He's caught me staring. And he's not smiling this time….

* * *

Chrismas Eve. I absolutely love Christmas Eve. The day of anticipation, of quiet dark days and burning fires. It makes me sad knowing that I'll be leaving the day after tomorrow, because I know that I'll have to get back to work, which means that once I finish, I'll be leaving Charlie. Seeing him here with his family, joking with his brothers, helping Mrs. Weasley, it's completely different than what I'm used to.

Oh no, he's caught me writing in here. Hang on.

Charlie pulled me aside from my journal to ask me for a walk. I looked at him like he was mad, and he noticed, and said it would just be really quick. Of course, I went with him, cursing him as soon as we stepped outside, boots crunching immediately on a thick layer of snow.

He asked me if I'd enjoyed things so far, and I gave him a hearty yes, directly launching into an embarrassingly long affirmation of how much I adored his family. He smiled, and when I was finished, told me that he had enjoyed the holidays very well.

I started to ask him why, but dropped off into a shiver instead. He looked at me for permission as he raised his hands to my arms, and when I nodded nervously, pulled me into his arms.

I started to lean into him, but was pulled back. Of course, I was incredibly embarrassed.

Instead of treating me awkward or saying something to politely push me away, he pointed up, and said, "Actually, this is why I made you come out here."

Not the most romantic sentiment, but when I looked up, do you know what was hanging in the tree?

Mistletoe.


End file.
